The Red Duvet
by baconfaced
Summary: Right after the events of LSD, Peter thinks about Olivia's bedding.


It's funny that Olivia Dunham, the queen of black and gray, has a bed set with so much **red**.

Peter Bishop first laid eyes on it well before they had a romantic relationship of any kind. He still doesn't know whose idea it was to invite him and Walter over for dinner- it could have been Olivia, Rachel, or even Ella (or Walter had rudely invited himself over). For him, the most memorable part of the evening was when Olivia went into her room to grab her wallet. Peter had not meant to look, but as soon as she switched the light on his eyes were drawn to the warm beige and the intricate red design that went across it.

It took a long time for him to get images of a certain pale body twisting on the bed, sharply contrasting with the red pattern, out of his head that night.

And now he is in that bed with that body sleeping partially on top of him. Science and reason would say he should be asleep, especially since their long-awaited reunion had led them to have an even more wild and enthusiastic night than usual (he's sure he'll have a crick in his neck from the way his head was against the headboard). Even her breathing turned peaceful and deep long ago, a rare phenomenon when he is still conscious enough to hear it.

Yet here he is, awake. Awake alone for so long that he can now feel her back has cooled underneath his hand.

Her long-sleeved gray shirt is at the foot of the bed, bunched up near his calf. Years of cons and magic tricks made his movements quiet and smooth, but its too dangerous to lift her head up and slip the shirt onto her. He can't risk waking her, not when the steady movement of air from her half-opened mouth on his chest tells him that she's getting a good rest.

Instead, using the arm that is not trapped underneath her, he carefully pulls the red and beige comforter over them, wanting to warm the parts of her that aren't heated by his body. He can barely make out the red pattern in the dark, but once again it fills his mind. This time, however, the thoughts are not powered by his sex drive.

He thinks of the first night he saw the comforter. In between fantasizing about having adventures on top or underneath the fabric, he had considered how the comforter itself had come to be on Olivia's bed. Back then, he didn't think it seemed like her style. He had never seen her wear red, and the pattern was way too delicate. He assumed it had been picked out, much like her few colorful articles of clothing, to please her sister- if Rachel didn't buy it herself. Yes, he had decided, Rachel was the one who would buy something so vibrant. Sometimes she was too vibrant herself.

Now, he knows better. Now he knows _Olivia Dunham_, knows her past the point of confusing her with her alternate universe doppelganger, past the point of falling for impostors her own mind creates.

While in her mind, Walter had said she had been "designed" a certain way, taught to blend in by wearing colors like that of the shirt near his calf. But Cortexiphan and military training were not really what made her _her_. After three years of standing back and admiring her, and a few wonderful weeks of seeing hidden parts of her that she's just exposed to him, he's come to know that there is more beyond the dark pantsuits.

For, Olivia may be a soldier. She may have devoted her life to drab uniforms and heavy caseloads. She may be able to fix on a straight, steely face mask during interrogations and hostage situations. But her insides were never black and gray.

Inside Olivia Dunham, there is fire. She is driven by raw emotion, so raw it would consume lesser men. It's why Peter loves her. She's real, strong, and true, just like the color of the dye in the fabric.

He had seen a rare side of her today: calm and happy. He knew it wasn't like Bell had said it was going to be; it wasn't the blissful, well-rested feeling from a long nap. Her mind had been violated, suddenly and without warning, and it had lasted for days despite his efforts to put a stop to it.

She would be have woken up more exhausted and panicked than before, just like she would had she been struggling with a nightmare (and she _had_ been) but facing the fears that had plagued her mind since childhood had given her a calmer perspective.

That, and knowing who would kill her. That seemed to be something that relaxed her to the point where she could eat some toast and enjoy her night with him.

Her happiness had been infectious, he couldn't help but catch her enthusiasm and enjoy the night as well. Now though, now his thoughts are on that comforter and on the drawing of that man.

It could have been a symptom- her mind had been invaded thrice over and there was LSD still in her system. But she could be just as skeptical as him. If she wasn't sure it had nothing to do with the drugs and exhaustion, she wouldn't have said anything.

He watches the comforter rise and fall with her breathing, her bare shoulders poking out from underneath it, just visible in the darkness. A wave of affection goes through him, and he never, ever wants to leave this moment, never, ever wants his Olivia away from him again, never, ever wants her to stop breathing.

But apparently she would be okay with it. This woman, full of the passion of red and fire, has already come to terms with dying a violent death. She will give her life in the name of protecting two universes or a lone victim, and not just because service of world and country has been ingrained in her. She has finally accepted the power of sacrifice that is in her, so she no longer worries for herself.

But oh, how he worries. He doubts he will ever be able to let her out of this safe cocoon of his arms and blankets. He certainly will never be able to accept her death, for his life is now dependent on hers. They are tangled, literally in the moment but figuratively always. He needs her, needs her to continue living.

Maybe, someday soon, he will tell her that. Tell her that, and get started on making it official that their lives are together.

He already knows that he will enter the machine, if only to ensure the continuation of her breathing, but he refuses to think about that tonight. He'd prefer to stay near her, with a weapon ready just in case they ever happen upon a man wearing a shirt with a bold black X emblazoned on the chest.

His thoughts also go to a house with three bedrooms on the second floor and one on the first (so Walter will be near the kitchen). To having at least one arm around her every night as she breathes just as peacefully as she is now. To having little Bishops and maybe a dog.

The comforter, however, is going to be a problem. Even though Peter feels more emotions than he lets on, he doesn't think he can pull off this red design. When they move in together and officially share a bed, they're going to need something new. Plaid would represent both of them well, but she wouldn't go for it. A good, strong solid color then. . . Maybe maroon.


End file.
